


Financial Opportunities

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everyone Is Alive, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter has a job, Peter's a dick, Slow Build, Stripping, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For now, the situation is that I have money.  A lot of money, Stiles.  And you need money.   And I have things I need done and I’ll pay you to do them."</p><p>Peter needs a personal assistant or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s depressing how he’s getting used to it. How he’s greeted by scrunched up faces and, “Ew, you smell funny.”

“I know, I know,” Stiles says sighing, and puts down his backpack on the dining room table. “And I did take a shower before I came over, believe me. I use half a bottle of body wash and everything.”

“Apparently.” Derek walks around him sniffing and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like … grease and rotting meat and … artificial citrus soap. Pretty.”

“With just a touch of humiliation,” Isaac adds, making Boyd grin.

“Thanks, thanks for noticing. Can’t help it, I’m doing my best,” Stiles answers, pulling his homework out of the backpack and settling on the floor next to Lydia. “Your banshee senses aren’t too offended, are they?”

“By your fast-food smell? No, but I’ll get you some new body wash, because you smell like a fruit salad.”

“How’s the new job going?” Scott asks, because Scott is a terrific best bro.

Stiles rolls up his shirt sleeves and turns on his laptop. “Eh, it’s okay. Fourteen hours a week, they won’t give me any more hours. Guess there’s others who are asking as well, but too many hours and they have to start paying benefits or something. Which is fine, I’m still on Dad’s health insurance, but I could use the money.”

“I thought you were selling term papers or something?” Erica asks, opening her book and settling into her normal spot next to Boyd.

“Um hm, still am,” Stiles confirms. “But I can only do so many of those and I’m starting to worry that I’ll end up needing some of those for my college classes, so I’m thinking that maybe I should cut back. I dunno, it’ll work out.”

Suddenly, there’s an unexpected voice from the other side of the room. “I thought you had a scholarship nailed down.”

Stiles is annoyed that he jumps slightly and answers, “Yeah, Peter, I do. Got a couple of things lined up, this is mostly for my expenses and to help out my Dad and stuff.”

“And how does he feel about that?” Peter asks, ever present smirk on his face.

Stiles looks down and misery gets added to his overall scent.

“With going to school and work, are you able to keep up with your classes?” Peter asks. “Giving up sleep probably isn’t helpful either, Stiles.”

“Drop it, Peter,” Derek orders. “It’s not your business.”

Stiles looks up, ready to give one final, snarky comment to Peter and finds that he’s already gone.

 

After his next shift, Stiles heads directly into the bathroom, turning on the hot water for a shower. Clothes are tossed into the laundry hamper in the hallway and he spends a few quiet minutes alone in the house enjoying the new body wash that Lydia slipped into his back pack during lunch.

What he’s not expecting to find is Peter sitting at his desk, red pen in hand, making notes on his homework. “Honestly, Stiles, it’s like you’re not even trying anymore,” Peter says, without turning around. “A whole bunch of people died? You can use Google to find the number of deaths from the bubonic plague.”

“First, you’re not supposed to be here and second, you’re supposed to be keeping your nose out of my business,” Stiles sputters, gripping the towel around his waist and backing towards his dresser. He’s used to wolves coming in and out of his window, but Peter hasn’t been a visitor before.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that. I was told not to ask questions about you contributing to your household expenses. Something else I didn’t agree to do.” Peter shakes his head and writes a few more notes in the margin of the paper. “When is this paper due, it needs some serious editing. Oh, and shouldn’t you get dressed? I’m led to believe that humans are delicate little orchids, forever catching colds.”

“I hate you.” Stiles grabs a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt out of his drawers. He steps out in the hallway to get dressed, pulling his clothes on as quickly as possible. “The paper is due at the end of the week, so I have time, it’s a rough draft. And why are you here anyway? You do free lance tutoring or something?”

The wolf puts down his pen and swivels to face Stiles. “No, I’m here with a proposition for you. Something that I think will be mutually beneficial.”

Stiles sits on the edge of his bed and cautiously says, “Go on.”

“I’d like to hire you to do some work for me. Chores, errands, things like that. Reasonable hours, good pay and you won’t smell as bad as you do now,” Peter says, sniffing delicately.

“What kind of things, because right now, I’m not feeling comfortable with this idea at all,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose.

“Mind out of the gutter, boy. As I said, basic household chores that I don’t want to do.”

Stiles chuckles and says, “Do I look like a Merry Maid?”

“You look like someone who knows about the supernatural, so I might be inclined to trust you in my home. After all, I can’t hire just anyone,” Peter answers, putting down the pen and crossing his hands over his stomach.

“You can’t do chores yourself?” Stiles asks, copying Peter’s position.

“I could and I have,” Peter answers. “Back when the pack all lived in the Hale house together, chores were split and there was usually someone who did things like laundry and cooking and cleaning. Of course, Derek’s little tryst ended that. I admit, when I first started living alone, doing chores was new and different. But I’m over that now and want to find someone who can do things for me. For pay, of course.”

“What did you contribute to the house, if you weren’t doing chores?” Stiles asks with a smile.

Peter smiles back, showing a bit of teeth. “Things that needed to be done. But that’s the past, of course. For now, the situation is that I have money. A lot of money, Stiles. And you need money.  And I have things I need done and I’ll pay you to do them.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. “It still sounds creepy. And I already have a job.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes at the boy. “You said you work 14 hours a week? At minimum wage, I assume? So after taxes you probably bring in what? A hundred dollars a week? I can do much better, all cash, all under the table. And probably fewer hours as well, so you can do a better job at your schoolwork.”

“Not that I’m saying yes, but what kind of chores?” Stiles asks. He could certainly use the money and if he can get as much as he’s been making with a few more hours to study or sleep it’s pretty tempting.

“As I said, general things like cleaning the house, grocery shopping, dry cleaners and laundry. I’m thinking we could do a test run,” Peter says. “Once a month or so, I have my car detailed. It’s picked up in the morning and they keep it all day, which is a little inconvenient. But they return it spotless inside and out. I’m thinking you might be able to do it in about four hours and I’ll pay you what I pay them, one hundred fifty dollars.”

“You’ll let me drive your Mercedes and pay me one hundred fifty dollars to wash it?” Stiles asks, unable to keep from grinning.

Peter just raises an eyebrow at his question and Stiles replies “You live in an apartment complex, where am I going to do this project? I’ll drive it here and take care of it in the driveway.”

“I suppose that’ll be okay. So Saturday morning, start at eight and be done by noon? I have cleaners without scent, that’s important for the car and everything else.”

Stiles snorts and says, “Weekend, dude. How about start at ten and be done by two? Hey,” he asks, jaw dropping, “so is this something like you expect me to do it wearing a bikini top and booty shorts?”

Peter smiles and studies Stiles before answering. “You don’t _have_ to. I thought you’d wear regular clothes or perhaps some nice jumpsuit or something -- something with no buttons or zippers to scratch the car. Because you know if you scratch the car…” he shows Stiles his claws and continues, “But if this is your secret desire, go ahead and don’t let me stop you.”

Stiles scratches his head and grabs the paper on his desk, scanning the notes that Peter made, which look to be helpful. “Funny, dude. I’m just trying to figure out your ulterior motive. Cause I know you have one.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Stiles, but all I want is a personal assistant who won’t try to kill me. Again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmm,” Peter says, walking around the car and twiddling his thumbs in front of his chest like some super villain. “Looks good, Stiles.” He leans closer and sniffs Stiles’ neck, not even trying to be subtle. “No chemicals, that’s good.”

It’s a challenge getting to Peter’s at the right time on Saturday morning, but Stiles is determined he’ll exceed Peter’s expectations. He arrives promptly at ten a.m. with minimal bedhead, wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt to show Peter that he’s not going to scratch his beloved Mercedes.

“Morning, Boss,” Stiles says when Peter opens the apartment door. “I’ll have her back no later than two.” He holds out his hand and waits while Peter studies him.

Of course Peter’s impeccably dressed and groomed, sipping a mug of coffee while leaning on his door frame. “Good morning, Stiles, you look…well, you look ready to work.  You remember where the elevator to the garage is?”

“Yup,” he answers cheerfully, trying not to sound impatient. “Keys, please?”

Peter hands them over, holding on for just an obnoxious second before letting them go.

“No worries, I’ll have it back at two,” Stiles says and heads to the garage to take the car back to his house for some TLC.

 

Cleaning the car really isn’t any trouble; there’s not a lot of actual mess. Like Peter himself and his apartment, it already looks clean. But Stiles goes over every inch of it, using organic, natural cleaners that are supposed to be scent-free.  He’s got chamois cloths to make sure there are no streaks or god-forbid any scratches and a very soft toothbrush to clean the chrome of the tire rims. He vacuums, polishes and uses a gentle leather conditioner on the seats and dashboard.

When he’s finished, he’s surprised to find that he’s been cleaning for three hours without a break. He gives everything one more check and then heads back to Peter’s house, keeping to the speed limit and trying to avoid any trees that might harbor birds.  

 

“Hmm,” Peter says, walking around the car and twiddling his thumbs in front of his chest like some super villain.  “Looks good, Stiles.” He leans closer and sniffs Stiles’ neck, not even trying to be subtle. “No chemicals, that’s good.”

Stiles wipes at his neck, making a face behind Peter’s back. “Yeah you said no chemicals, so I got stuff that isn’t supposed to smell.” He stands back while Peter looks inside the car and checks the trunk.

“Nice job, I’m sure that a crime scene unit couldn’t find any stray DNA in here.” Peter grins, “Not that there was anything to find, of course.”

“Do you actually have a book of creepy things to say?” Stiles asks. “So do I pass the test?”

“Yes, I think so,” Peter says and gestures for Stiles to lead the way out of the garage. “Let’s talk about what else you can do to make me happy.”

 

Peter pours them both an iced tea and directs Stiles to one of the dining room chairs while he pulls out a file, giving Stiles a chance to check out the apartment. He hands a piece of paper to Stiles and sits back waiting and watching.

“So this is the list of things you want me to do?” Stiles asks, scanning the paper with a shrug. “Pretty straight forward, looks like things a maid would do.”

“It should be pretty straight forward. As I said, just regular chores, it’s only something sinister in your suspicious mind.” Peter sips his tea and watches Stiles read. “Payment okay?”

He gestures to the paper. “So this is what you’d pay me? What’s here on the right side? What, like every week?”

“Or as often as you do the task. I’d like the kitchen cleaned, probably two or three times a week. Grocery shopping once or twice. Most of the house can be cleaned weekly.” Peter cocks an eyebrow and smiles. “You run your own home, I assume you know how these things go and scheduling and all that.”

Stiles takes another look around the apartment, which barely looks lived in. “Yeah, so how many hours a week do you think you want me? To do this stuff?”

“However long it takes, that’s why I’m not paying you by the hour, but by the task.” Peter picks an invisible piece of lint off his sweater and looks up at Stiles. “As long as it’s done and done right, if it takes you an hour to clean the kitchen or fifteen minutes, I don’t care. I don’t like things messy and I don’t like smells. The rest is up to you.”

Stiles looks up from the list. “Laundry? You want me to do your laundry? Like wash your dirty undies?”

Peter rolls his eyes and sighs. “If it’s any comfort, I rarely wear underwear. And if that disappoints you, you can feel free to roll around in my used bedding before you strip the bed and wash the sheets.”

“Ew, you are sick, I don’t know why I’m considering this.” Stiles looks at the list again, wrinkling his nose and trying not to think of Peter sans-underwear. “Groceries? You’ll make a list for me?”

“Of course, I’ll have it on the fridge. You can add things to it; I don’t want you to starve while you’re here, rolling around in my bed.”

“What’s miscellaneous mean?” Stiles asks, choosing to ignore the last comment and pointing to a line on the page. “And what’s negotiable?”

“Different, varied, assorted. And negotiable means something is open for discussion,” Peter answers and cocks his head looking puzzled. “Don’t they teach you these things in school?”

Stiles snorts and drinks some tea, which is frankly terrific and kind of pisses him off. “You’re an asshole. I mean, and you know I mean, what might the miscellaneous tasks be?”

“I’m not sure, which is why it’s open. Things I haven’t thought about yet, possibly some help with my work,” he shrugs, looking innocent, as though that will fool anyone. “Or maybe there’s things you think should be done that I haven’t thought about. I appreciate creativity in an employee.”

“You work?  I thought you spent all your free time trimming your goatee and thinking up snarky things to say.”

“That actually takes up very little time.” Peter stands and gestures that Stiles should as well. “I work here, I’ll show you my office.” He goes down the hallway, pointing as they pass rooms. “Guest bedroom. Guest bath. My bedroom and bath are at the end of the hall.” He stops in front of a door and opens it, guiding Stiles inside with a gentle hand to his lower back that Stiles tries to step away from. “My office.” The room is lined with bookshelves and has a good sized desk facing a window that looks out over the small park next to the complex. Normal office supplies, including a laptop and printer are on the desk.

“Okay, so what do you do?” Stiles wanders around and looks at some of the books in the shelves. Some look like they’re in English, others aren’t and some have nothing on the spines at all.  And they all look old and to Stiles’ eyes, expensive.

“I find things for people,” Peter says, looking around his room with a genuine smile. “Books, trinkets, things people want.”

“Supernatural people? You’re like a dealer or something?”

“Something like that. I might need you to pick up things from the airport or help me wrap items.  Things like that, nothing too scary, and nothing dangerous.” Peter smiles and perhaps it’s meant to be reassuring, at least there’s no teeth.

Stiles looks around the room once more as Peter directs him out. “Do you think I might be able to borrow a book on occasion?” He doesn’t expect Peter to agree, but it’s worth a shot.

“Probably.  The ones in there are my private collection.  Some that were saved from the fire, some that were stored elsewhere and of course new ones.” Peter sits on the couch and points to a chair for Stiles. “So what do you think? Do you want the job until you go to college?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, without any hesitation. “When do I start?”

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up an employment contract, you sign and we’re good to go.” Peter hands him a copy of the list they reviewed, saying, “This will be included in the contract, along with a pretty standard non-disclosure agreement. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“A contract? To wash your bathroom floors? That doesn’t strike you as overkill?” Probably not the best word to use with Peter, but at least Stiles is sure he understands the meaning.

“It’s for both of our protection. And of course, employment ends at any time either of us wants it to,” Peter says, smiling his ‘I’m humoring you and you’re tiring’ smile.

“Sure, go ahead with the contract.  I’ll have Lydia read it and if she says it’s okay, it’s a go. What have I got to lose?” Stiles says, getting up and heading for the door.

Peter reaches into his pocket and hands Stiles a wad of bills and a ring of keys. “Famous last words. I’ll have papers sent over within a couple of days.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contracts are signed and Stiles starts his job.

“Well, first let me state that I am not a lawyer,” Lydia says, looking up from the papers Stiles presented to her.

“I know, Lyds, and thanks for looking at these,” he says for the hundredth time. “I can’t believe Peter had a lawyer do this.”

She looks at the overnight envelope from a law firm in San Francisco and hums quietly. “I don’t think this is that customized, it looks like it’s probably a pretty standard contract. Employment at will, the list of job tasks is an addendum, not incorporated into the contract. The only thing that I’m concerned with is some of the wording in the non-disclosure agreement.” She flips to the page with that wording and turns it around to face Stiles. “First, I’m still not sure why he needs one, but from what I’ve read it’s not that uncommon for a personal assistant. I guess my only thought is that you make sure to add in that if you see or learn of anything illegal, you have the right to tell someone. That way, you won’t be part of whatever criminal activity Peter’s involved with.”

Stiles scratches his neck and looks at the wording again. He tried to read it several times, really he did, but after the first few sentences it just kind of goes into a blur. “I’ll tell him,” Stiles says, nodding at her.

Lydia raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Do you want me to go with you when you sign?”

“Thank you, Lydia, I’ll owe you.”

She picks up her bag and heads for the door. “And you always will.”

 

Peter agrees to meet at the local coffee shop to sign the contract with Lydia there as Stiles’ back-up. It’s not just that he doesn’t want her at his house, but more that she always prefers to meet him some place public with witnesses around.

But that doesn’t keep Peter from smirking as Stiles explains the changes he wants. “So exactly what do you expect? You’ll be doing dishes and I’ll bring in someone to kill in the bathroom?”

“No. I mean at least I hope not.” Stiles wrinkles his nose and looks to Lydia for help, while she sips her white mocha and sends a text. “I thought you were more of killing in the great outdoors anyway, aren’t you?”

“You can’t expect him to ignore it if you hand him a stack of blood soaked laundry to do,” Lydia says, not bothering to look up. “You could make him an accessory after the fact.”

Peter rolls his eyes and says, “When I’m covered in blood, it’s because we’re _all_ covered in blood. Besides, I’d throw those clothes out. There are some stains you can’t get out in the laundry.”

“Well, what about when you bring a body home and ask me to help you bury it?” Stiles hisses and looks around to be sure no one is listening in.

“Is that your worry?” Peter heaves a sigh. “Fine. I’ll bury all the bodies on my own, okay? And we add ‘The non-disclosure clause does not apply to acts considered criminal by the US justice system.’ Will that work?”

Stiles looks to Lydia. “Add in California and I’m okay with it.”

“Fine,” Peter snorts and writes the approved wording on three copies of the contract. “Initial here and sign here,” he tells Stiles as he does the same. Peter shakes his head as he hands a copy to Stiles and gets ready to take the other two. “I’ll mail one to my lawyer. I guess you’ll do the same?”

“Okay,” Stiles says nodding. “And, um… thanks for agreeing to the changes. Do we need a witness or a notary or something?” He turns to Lydia.

She sighs, putting down her phone and picking up her massive purse. She pulls out an inkpad and small stamp, holding out her hand for Peter to return his two copies. “My eighteenth birthday present to myself. I’m a notary.”

 

Stiles goes to Peter’s after school the following Monday and lets himself in. Peter had sent a text late Sunday letting him know he’d be gone, but would leave a note if there was anything specific he wanted done. Otherwise, Stiles should start on the kitchen and anything else that he had time to start with.

“Filthy, filthy, filthy,” Stiles mutters as he enters Peter’s apartment. He’s not sure exactly why Peter needs a housekeeper, since the place barely looks lived in, but hey, the work isn’t bad and the money’s good.

True to his word, Peter’s left a note on the table, next to another copy of the chore/payment list. As though Stiles hasn’t memorized the entire thing. Peter’s note says, “Sorry, I left my bathroom a bit messy, could you please clean in there? Thank you.” It’s not signed. Bathroom. Okay, he can do that, he cleans his own bathroom and his dad’s and besides, the bathroom has a pretty good price.

Stiles goes through Peter’s bedroom, trying not to get too distracted, there’s plenty of time to snoop later. Because seriously, he’s so going to snoop, everyone has to know that. And Peter’s bathroom is – if it were Stiles’ he’d say it’s perfect. It would pass Stiles’ cleanliness test, which doesn’t mean it’s good enough for Peter, of course. He sets down his box of cleaning supplies and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and does another survey. First thing is earbuds in and music on. Then he opens the window and throws some cleaning stuff into the toilet to let it sit. Spray down the shower stall and that sits for a while, too.

There is actually a bit of toothpaste and maybe shaving cream in the sink, so that must be the mess that Peter’s upset about. No biggie, spray all over that, too. And a few wipes and it looks clean.

Stiles starts wiping down everything he’s previously sprayed, scrubs the toilet with a brush and goes back to the sink counter to wipe that down. Then he cleans the mirror on the medicine cabinet and the main mirror over the sink, because Peter has lots of mirrors, yeah. So how thorough should he be? When does thorough change to nosey? He opens the medicine cabinet and it looks pretty well organized (no shock there) but there’s rings on the cabinet shelves and one of the bottles looks a little sticky, so Stiles figures he’ll clean it. Plus, snooping.

It’s not crowded, but just to be sure, Stiles takes a quick picture of the shelves so he can put everything back where it goes. Then takes everything out and cleans the shelves and wipes down the bottles and everything else.

Peter’s medicine cabinet is a lot better than his dad’s, especially since there’s very little actual medicine, which makes sense because werewolf. One bottle of aspirin and a bottle of vitamins, which is kind of unexpected. Werewolves take vitamins? Lots of hair stuff, no surprise there. Colognes and Stiles recognizes his favorite, the one that Peter wears the most, opening the bottle and giving it a sniff before he cleans it.  

Stiles refers to the pictures on his phone, singing along to his music, while putting everything back where it was. He tries not to giggle when he puts back the assortment of face creams and moisturizers and a bottle of under eye firming gel.

“Well, you’ve been busy,” Peter says while pulling one of Stiles’ earbuds out.

“Good god, man, are you trying to give me heart failure?” Stiles jerks around and backs into the sink counter.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I didn’t mean to startle you; I just wanted to let you know that I’m home.” He looks around the room and nods. “Looks good. Oh and cute dance, too.”

“Jackass,” Stiles mutters turning his back to Peter to finish the cabinet.

 

“Hey, I’m done in here.” Stiles walks into the living room looking for Peter and then back down the hallway to the office.

“Great, thank you,” Peter says, barely glancing up from his laptop.

“Sure. Umm, what do you want me to do in here? Not tonight, but whenever. I don’t want to disturb anything.”

Peter gets up and stretches. “Just run the vacuum a couple of times a week and I’ll do the rest.” He cocks his head and says, “Dinner’s here.” And then the doorbell rings.

As they leave the office, Peter gestures to the kitchen. “Why don’t you get out plates, assuming you want Chinese.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your dinner. After all, I’m the hired help.”

Peter pays the delivery guy, and carries the bags into the kitchen, setting them on the counter. “Plates are there,” he says, pointing. “Silverware is here. Chopsticks are in the bag.”

Stiles stands by the counter, as Peter unpacks the cartons, way too much food for two people, even if one is a werewolf. “Well, I could eat, if you don’t mind.”

“Honestly, Stiles,” Peter says, “You’ve known me for over two years, you should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t want to. I’m not one for social niceties.”

“True,” Stiles says and fills his plate, sitting at the dining room table, where Peter hands him a cloth napkin.

Peter joins him at the table, handing Stiles a glass of ice water and setting down a glass of wine for himself. “Although part of the first year I was pretty much insane. Or dead. Or coming back from being dead.”

“Good times,” Stiles mutters. “So were you working today, is that why you were gone?”

“Stiles are you trying to make polite dinner conversation?” Peter asks, studying a slice of pork on his chopsticks.

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugs and shoves noodles into his mouth, chewing quickly so he doesn’t talk with his mouth full. “But if you do stuff that will give me miscellaneous things to do, I’m interested.”

“I had a long day. I’m working with an older gentleman who is slowly selling off his collection. He has some very interesting items, but it takes a patient hand.” Peter smiles and sips some of his wine, pushing his plate away. “So about a ninety-minute drive, then lots of listening to him talk about his exploits, then determine what he wants to sell next and then the drive back.”

“Sounds painful, I hope it was worth it.”

Peter gets up and walks towards his office. “Yes, I think so. He didn’t let me take a lot today, but we looked through some books that he wants to sell. Possibly, next time.” He returns, unwrapping tissue paper and holds up a small item that looks like a polished stone. “Today, I got this.”

Stiles squints at it and asks, “What is it?”

Peter hands the stone to Stiles. “It’s a charm that is supposed to keep the dead from rising. You bury it with the person and they stay dead and buried.”

“So, is this something the pack needs or are you keeping it so no one uses it with you next time?”

“It’s already claimed by someone else with undead problems,” Peter says, taking it back and wrapping it in the tissue. “I’m sending it off tomorrow, as soon as I’m paid.”

“Speaking of tomorrow, I thought I’d do your room and the living room, is that okay, will it bug you?” Stiles starts gathering dishes and carrying things to the sink. His plan is to clean the kitchen before he leaves; Peter said he wanted it done at least a couple of times a week.

Peter moves around Stiles to get into the fridge, and pours himself another glass of wine. “No, that’s fine, Stiles, thank you. I have a bit of work to do yet tonight, I need to find buyers for some of my friend’s items.”

“Great, I’ll be out of here in about an hour or so,” Stiles says, putting the leftovers in the fridge and checking his box of cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, Stiles, have a good night.” Peter touches Stiles shoulder for just a second before he turns and leaves.

Stiles smiles to himself and thinks that wasn’t creepy at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing more work at Peter's, finding out things, Peter might be acting like a dick.

The next time Stiles goes to Peter’s, his plans are to clean the master bedroom, the living room and vacuum Peter’s office. And of course do anything needed in the kitchen. He’ll be thorough certainly, but still, it probably won’t take that long since he’s found that Peter’s pretty much a clean freak anyway.

He’s brought his homework with him because with laundry and the dishwasher, he’ll have some downtime. And Stiles intends to put every minute of his downtime to use. So he’ll come in and head for Peter’s bedroom (and not giggle about it), strip the bed and get all the laundry in. While that’s starting he can get anything into the dishwasher and get that going. Dust everything and run the vacuum everywhere and by that time, the clothes should be ready for the dryer. This is when he should have some time for homework. Then after the laundry’s done, he can fold up everything, including the freshly washed sheets, make the bed with clean sheets from the closet, and finish with everything in the bedroom. Then back to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher.

So actually thinking about it, he doesn’t have that much time for homework, but anything he can get done is helpful. He promises himself that he won’t get distracted by unrelated internet sites.

And it starts out well. He’s using some of the techniques he developed from home, with a small laundry basket to hold all his supplies. And Stiles has started using the unscented, less chemical items at home, too, and doesn’t need to wear heavy gloves for most of the cleaning.

In the bedroom, he pulls the laundry hamper out of Peter’s closet, pulls down all the towels from the bathroom and strips the bed, adds the towels from the kitchen and puts everything into the washer in the small laundry room down the hall from Peter’s bathroom. Not as weird as he expected it to be and he tries very hard not to think of Peter sleeping in those sheets. When he’s back in the bedroom to dust and vacuum, he stops suddenly seeing a framed picture on a shelf by the window. Next to small potted plant, the picture is a younger Peter with his arm around a pretty blonde woman. It’s hard to tell how old Peter is in the picture, but his hair is longer and Stiles can see a few curls around his neck. He’s wearing sunglasses (of course) and has a huge, genuine smile on, looking at the woman like she hangs the moon. It’s unexpected and suddenly Stiles feels like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have, even though Peter knows he’ll be in the room and presumably could see the picture. Using that logic, Stiles takes out his phone and takes a couple of quick pictures, thinking he’ll risk asking Derek about it.

It’s a couple of hours later, and he’s at the dining room table with his laptop on, surrounded by books, when Peter comes home.

“You look comfortable,” he says, going into the kitchen and pouring a glass of wine from the open bottle on the counter.

“Just trying to get some homework in while waiting for the laundry to finish,” Stiles answers. “Other than that, I’ll unstack the dishwasher in about thirty minutes. Your bedroom is done and I vacuumed your office, too. Let me know if it’s okay or if there’s anything else you’d like me to do.”

Peter raises an eyebrow and sips some wine. “Well aren’t you accommodating? I’m very glad I hired you.”

“Don’t be creepy, Peter. Or creepier, since I’m sure creepy is your base level. I thought I’d do some grocery shopping tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

Peter doesn’t say anything as he studies Stiles, who is determined not to twitch or give the wolf the satisfaction of knowing it’s disturbing. “Problem four is wrong,” he says finally.

“What? No it’s not,” Stiles says quickly, looking at his work again and checking his book. “Stop doing that.”

“Look at it again. You ended up with a negative number, that’s not right.”

Stiles looks back at his work and mutters to himself while he reworks his calculations. “Yeah. Thanks for catching that. You want to check the rest of my work?”

“Not particularly,” Peter says and sips a bit more wine. “I’ll text you a grocery list for your shopping, if that’s okay. And of course add to it if you’d like. I’d hate to come home and find you half starved, chewing on your own leg for sustenance.”

“You really do have a knack for making everything sound creepy, do you practice that?” When Peter just smiles, Stiles rolls his eyes and sighs elaborately. “Fine, email me or text me, whatever’s easier. But remember I can’t buy alcohol.”

Peter snorts, “Like I’d trust you to buy my alcohol without explicit instructions. No, just basics. Oh, and I might be having company in a couple of days, so could you plan to do the guest bathroom and bedroom next time you’re here?”

“Oh, company? Sure, I can do that. Although if those rooms are as clean as the rest of your house, I have to say, probably not a lot for me to do.”

“I hope you don’t mind my asking you to do this. I admit, I like having things around me clean.”

“Not a problem, that’s why you hired me, I’m just saying…” Stiles starts and Peter interrupts.

“At first, after the fire, all I could smell was ash. Ash and soot from my burnt house and everything in a house that burns and turn to that greasy black ash. That and the smell of burnt flesh; mine and others, but I’ll say mostly mine.” Peter stares off in a place slightly over Stiles’ shoulder, not really looking at anything.

“After that, after all the treatments for my burns, I ended up in the long-term care unit of the hospital. The smells there were of the dead and the dying. I think you might know those smells, Stiles?” Peter lifts his head towards him, but Stiles can tell he’s not seeing at him, he’s still lost in his head. “There’s a smell that’s both clean and unclean at the same time. Too much bleach and antiseptics trying to overlay the smell of decay and death. And since I was in a coma, and didn’t have anyone visiting or checking in on me, my room and I could be left until the end of the day to clean.”

Stiles wants to say or do something to tell Peter he understands or to show some human emotion, but he knows that Peter won’t appreciate it if he does. Peter might want a lot of things, but Peter’s never wanted pity.

And Stiles does remember being in his mother’s room at the end, he knows the smells Peter’s talking about. And sometimes he goes to the hospital when Scott’s bringing his mom dinner and the smell hits him like an assault.

“So Stiles,” Peter says, looking at him, apparently back in the present, “I hope you don’t mind my asking you to do some extra cleaning for me. I know it may seem odd to you, but…”

He holds up his hands to stop Peter from finishing. “No. No, it’s fine. I was just thinking that I’m taking advantage of you, taking your money for very little work, but yeah, it’s your money.” Stiles stumbles over his words, wanting to change the subject. “I guess we should be thankful that part of your revenge plan didn’t include destroying the hospital.”

Peter shrugs, and goes into the kitchen to refill his glass. “And I do have the money, so while I thank you for your concern, it’s not necessary. And I hadn’t thought about doing anything to the hospital – even if I had, I ran out of time. You might remember when your pack set me on fire and then my nephew slit my throat?”

With Peter in the other room, Stiles starts to pack up his books. “Yeah, I remember those things, happened after you tried to kill everyone. Good times.”

“At any rate, I think the hospital has been suitably razed by others. I seem to remember a few Onis, just recently,” Peter says with a smile and Stiles can feel the blood drain from his face.

“Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Guest room, guest bathroom, kitchen and groceries. You okay with it on Thursday? I have some homework due.” This is true, he has a paper due for physics. And he’d also like a day away from Peter.

“Of course, Stiles,” Peter says, and brushes his hand down Stiles’ shoulder as he passes him to go into his office. “I don’t mean for this to inconvenience you. And don’t stay here too late; you have school tomorrow.”

When Stiles breaks a wine glass putting away the dishes, it’s almost certainly not something he does on purpose.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know that I’m doing some work for Peter, right? I’m like his maid or something, so I found this and need to know who it is.” He pulls out his phone and pulls up the photo of the framed picture he took, sliding it over to Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but this is where I wanted it to end.

Stiles decides they both need a few days apart. Thinking it over, he understands Peter’s snark, which doesn’t mean he appreciates it. But it’s the sort of thing Stiles would do – expose too much of himself and then be an asshole to cover it up. Is he comfortable having so much in common with Peter? No, but he understands it. 

He texts Peter that he has tests coming up and needs a couple of days to concentrate on school. Peter texts back that it’s fine and also sends him a link to Swarovski Crystalline Red Wine Glasses at $390 a pair. Stiles texts back a link to red plastic Solo cups, 50 for $15.00. Peter sends back an eye-rolling emoji.

So he’s back on Friday, resolute in his cause to make Peter’s apartment as clean as the man wants it. Peter had sent the grocery list as planned, nothing that’s too shocking on it. He eats healthy, if more meat than Stiles is used to buying. He throws in an extra six-pack of Coke and a large bag of tortilla chips so he has something to snack on. He thought about Hot Pockets, but thinking about how sensitive Peter is to smells, they go back in the freezer case. Maybe next time. 

Peter’s not home when he gets there, so he confirms there’s no new notes and gets to work. The guest bedroom and bath are on the schedule today as Peter had said he was expecting company. As Stiles expected, there’s not a lot of actual cleaning to be done, but he changes the sheets and scrubs the bathroom, leaving the windows open for fresh air. It’s a nice enough guest room, kind of bland, with mostly plants as decoration. Stiles recognizes some of them – Adder’s Tongue, clover and Foxglove, so maybe this has something to do with Peter’s job. They all look healthy, so Stiles just dusts around everything and goes to clean the bathroom, which is also clean to Stiles’ standards. Flowers would be nice, Stiles thinks, especially since Peter’s having company. But he’ll leave for Peter to take care of. Stiles would probably end up getting something Peter would think is a weed.

 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, staring at Stiles and blocking the door to his loft.

“Thought I’d drop by. I brought brownies!” Stiles sing-songs to him attempting to duck under Derek’s outstretched arm. 

Derek sniffs the air, raising an eyebrow. “With the coffee frosting?” 

“Of course,” Stiles answers and hands the glass pan to Derek. “They’re still a little warm, so come on and let me in.”

Derek shrugs as he takes the offering, moving in to the kitchen and pulling a gallon of milk out of the fridge. “So what do you want?” he asks, when they’re both sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and the pan of brownies in between them. 

“Why do I need to want something?” Stiles asks, cramming the brownie into his mouth. “Can’t I just bring over some brownies to be nice?”

Derek just raises an eyebrow and sips some milk, staring as Stiles fidgets and tries not to look at him. 

“Okay, here’s the thing,” he says finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know that I’m doing some work for Peter, right? I’m like his maid or something, so I found this and need to know who it is.” He pulls out his phone and pulls up the photo of the framed picture he took, sliding it over to Derek. 

“Oh,” Derek says quietly, eyes widening as he pulls the phone closer. He shuts his eyes and takes a breath before he says, “Where did you find this?”

Stiles slaps his hand on his forehead. “Oh god, I’m an idiot,” he says, dropping his head on the table. “I’m sorry, I should have realized … it was in Peter’s room, on a shelf. And stupid me, so interested in who it is, didn’t really think about how you’d feel when I showed you and…”

“It’s fine,” Derek says and smiles at the picture. “That’s Peter, of course. And Aunt Trisha. Patricia, his wife. He called her Trish and we all called her Trisha.”

“Peter had a wife?” For once, Stiles is so surprised he goes still.

“Yeah.” Derek gets up and gets a bottle of water out of the fridge, drinking half of it before he sits back down. “They were together, maybe, three years before the fire. Married for two.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Stiles says, looking at the picture again. “I mean, the way he’s looking at her, it’s not like she’s a sister or something.”

“No, not a sister. She was something else. She changed him. Peter has always been a dick; manipulative, sneaky, stirring the shit just to see what would happen. Aunt Trisha was able…” Derek pauses trying to get the right words. “I guess you can say she made him human. He was a lot better when they were together.”

“Was she human?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head and snorts quietly. “No. She was definitely wolf. Bitten, not born, and she really appreciated it. She liked everything about the life and she was totally devoted to Peter and to the pack.” He pulls the phone back and looks at the picture again. “Where is this in his house?”

“In his bedroom, on a shelf.” He keeps an eye on Derek, surprised at how much his face softens when he looks at the picture. “Hey, how do you think he got it? I mean, I thought pretty much everything burned in the fire.”

Derek sighs and shrugs. “When Laura and I were in New York, she reached out to a few of the packs we were close to. Only ones we could trust not to tell others where we were and that we’d survived. A couple of them sent us some pictures that they’d taken over the years. We sent that one to the hospital so they could put it in Peter’s room.”

“That was nice of you guys. I wonder how he got it out of there. God, do you think he’ll be mad that I know about it or that I saw it?” Stiles looks up in alarm and nearly knocks over the remaining inch of his milk.

Derek rescues the glass, pouring the remainder into his. “I wouldn’t think so. He trusts you enough to let you into his house and has you cleaning his bedroom, which I personally think is strange. And the picture isn’t hidden, is it?”

“Nope, right there and yeah, he wants me in his bedroom,” Stiles says and then tries to back pedal. “You know, he wants me to clean his bedroom is what I mean. He probably doesn’t want me to ask questions about his stuff, so if he asks, we never had this talk.”

“No worries there, I really don’t want to talk about you in Peter’s bedroom,” Derek says and covers the remaining brownies with foil before he puts them into his fridge.

“Good, thanks.” Stiles carries their glasses and puts them in the kitchen sink before he turns to Derek, brows drawn down as he thinks. “You didn’t see the picture there? You didn’t even know that he still has it?”

“Stiles,” Derek says with a smirk, “I’m the only one in this room who’s never set foot in Peter’s bedroom.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles does some miscellaneous work for Peter and gets his reward.
> 
> (I said this was slow build, didn't I?)

“Come over right now,” says the text from Peter.

“I’m at school,” Stiles texts back, phone on his lap.

“You don’t like school. Come over.” 

He’s got a point, Stiles thinks and texts back, “90 minutes.”

 

Stiles uses his key to enter Peter’s apartment and dumps his backpack on the dining room table, checking out the damage to the kitchen. Couple of plates and wine glasses, few pieces of silverware, all in all, maybe twenty-minutes of work. He’s not sure why Peter was so anxious, nothing he can see looks like a cleaning crisis. 

“Stiles, thank you for showing up so promptly,” Peter says, appearing out of nowhere, in that annoying wolf way he has. 

“So what’s the emergency? Want me to start in the kitchen or clean out the guest room?” He starts towards the guest room and Peter steps in front of him to stop him. 

“No, I have other things I need you to do. The guest room wasn’t used, so it’s fine.”

“Ooh la la,” Stiles chuckles. “Didn’t use the guest room, eh? I saw two wine glasses in the kitchen, so does that mean…”

Peter rolls his eyes and guides Stiles into the office, with a hand on his lower back. “Yes, it means we drank wine and I offered the guest room, but my guest chose not to stay over. He said he had things to do early in the morning so needed to get home.”

“Oh. Well sorry.” Stiles lets himself be pushed towards the office.

“No loss, he wasn’t my type anyway. Too old and too straight. And his wife already hates that we’re friends, I can’t imagine how unhappy she’d be if we had an actual affair.” Peter hands Stiles a small camera and points to a leather bound book, about three inches thick.

“So…what am I supposed to do?” Stiles asks, looking at the book in front of him.

“Here’s your job. You put on the glove and you take a photo of each page of the book. One photo for each page, then you turn the page and do it again until you’ve taken a photo of each page.”

Stiles puts on the gloves and picks up the camera, looking it over. “One picture per page?”

Peter looks at him with an eyebrow raised and acts out each action as he speaks. “Take a picture of the page on the left. Then a picture of the page on the right, then turn the page. Then do it again.” 

“Okay, okay, no need to be snippy. So what is this anyway?” He flips open the book in front of him, picking up the camera and getting the first page in focus. 

“These two books are my latest acquisition and they’re already claimed. But if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a copy of your very own,” Peter is already taking pictures of his own book, one that looks older and slightly thicker than the one Stiles is working on. 

They work in silence for a couple of minutes, getting in to a rhythm. Stiles tries to read a little of what he’s working with, but it’s definitely not English. “So you got these from another guy with a collection?”

“No, not exactly,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles before turning back to his book and carefully turning the next page. “He’s more of a middle man. I tell him what I’m looking for and he helps find things. He doesn’t like most people, so he only deals with me. Me, I’m charming. People love me,” he says, throwing Stiles a cheesy smile. 

“Sure, just keep telling yourself that,” he answers and goes back to work for a few minutes. “And what exactly are these? I think this is Italian, but that’s as much as I can tell.”

“That is a family history recorded in the late 1600s. One of the family was an emissary to a pack and the book talks about her training, although I’ve been told that there’s very little in the way of spells or magic written in it. It’s more centered on how the training was done.” 

“Interesting,” Stiles says, looking at the cover of the book for a minute before he continues. The pages are thick, but old and difficult to turn. “I can’t read 17th century Italian, of course.” 

“I’d be surprised if Ms. Martin can’t. Or there’s Google. Or I can help you translate if you’d like.”

Stiles smiles, keeping his head down and continuing to work. “That would be good. Thanks.”

The only noise for the next couple of minutes are camera clicks and the quiet rustle of pages turning. “This one might be more interesting to you; a collection of attack and protection spells. It’s in English, but from about 1400, so some translation would help there, too,” Peter says quietly. “I think this one is how to give your enemy a tail, but again, I’m not one hundred percent certain.”

“Not the kind of thing to guess at, but it would be cool if were.” Stiles moves to Peter’s side and looks at the page he’s just photographed. “I’d hope it’s easier to translate than the Italian one,” he says, moving closer to the book until he feels Peter’s hand around the back of his neck.

“Please don’t drool on the merchandise. Back to work, these are being picked up by a courier later this evening to be on a plane tonight.” Peter shoves him, quite gently, back to his table to continue work. “Work first, play later,” he says.

 

They finish a couple of hours later and Stiles helps Peter wrap the books, first in plain, white packing paper, then bubble wrap and into secure boxes with more wrap so they don’t move. When Peter’s finally satisfied, everything’s taped securely with a label taped to the boxes. 

“That’s not a full address label, will that work?” Stiles asks, looking at the cryptic information taped to the box. 

“They’re not actually being shipped, it’s not like I’m trusting these to FedEx, Stiles.” Peter takes both boxes and puts them on a small table by the front door, where he normally puts his keys and the few pieces of mail he receives. “They’ll be picked up, flown to the destination and picked up at the other end. All of which is paid for by the buyer.”

“Can I ask how much you’re making on these?” Stiles asks, seeing how smug Peter looks. 

Peter just shrugs and says, “More than enough to keep you on retainer.” He wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, ignoring how the young man tenses up for a second, and directs him to the kitchen. “Come, I’ll make you dinner for your service.”

 

Stiles feels like he should be doing something, after all, he is the paid employee, but Peter sits him at the table and gives him a glass of red wine. 

“You know I’m too young to legally drink?” he asks, taking a cautious sip. Stiles doesn’t know a lot about wine, but this isn’t too bad. 

“You know I literally could not care less?” Peter replies, taking a sip in between chopping whatever he’s chopping. He’s making some type of pasta, Stiles isn’t sure exactly what, but he saw the box of spaghetti and the garlic smells great. 

Stiles takes another sip, trying to keep up with Peter, but not just down it in one gulp. “That’s good, get the Sheriff’s son drunk.”

“I hardly think one glass of wine will get you drunk,” Peter says, giving Stiles a snarky look. “Haven’t you and the McCall boy practiced your drinking already? I doubt I’m taking your alcohol virginity.”

“Actually, there’s no type of virginity that should be discussed with you,” Stiles says as Peter puts a large bowl in front of him. “Cause you’re my boss, you know.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” Peter responds, sitting down, putting his napkin on his lap. “Eat up while it’s hot. It’s Aglio e Olio. I thought it would be appropriate with the book you worked on.”

It doesn’t look like anything he’s had before, he’s used to pasta with some type of tomato sauce. Or maybe cream sauce, but this looks very plain. It looks like there’s some parsley and he can see as well as smell the garlic. He takes a cautious taste and moans quietly. “Oh, god, so good, Peter,” he whispers and takes another bite.

When he looks up, Peter’s looking at him, his eyes flashing blue. He watches Peter take a breath and then a sip of his wine before he smiles again and says, “There’s cheese if you’d like although traditionally you don’t use it.” 

“Hmm, maybe a touch so I can compare,” Stiles says, helping himself to the small bowl of grated cheese and a slice of warmed bread. “It’s good with and good without,” he says, licking olive oil from his lips. 

Peter has a small smile on his face, and Stiles almost wants to say there’s some affection in his eyes as well, but it’s Peter, so he’s probably just amused at Stiles’ lack of sophistication. “Can you make that pasta with eggs in it?”

“Eggs?” Peter asks, puzzled look on his face. “I’m not sure what that one is.”

“Umm, bacon and eggs and you don’t cook it, you mix it in a bowl, I think,” Stiles says, using part of his slice of bread to soak up the garlicky oil in the bottom of his bowl. 

“Carbonara?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I make excellent carbonara. Maybe next time you do something special for me.”

Stiles tries not to smirk at the expression on Peter’s face as he licks some olive oil off his thumb. He just nods and says, “Sounds like a plan, boss.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needs a date for a dinner. And afterwards, there's wine at Peter's apartment.

The knock on the door is unexpected. It’s not quite six in the evening and Stiles has barely made it home from school. Now all he wants to do is to find something to eat and do the minimal amount of homework possible. With no supernatural emergencies on the horizon, maybe even call Boyd and see if he wants to hang out and play a few video games. Boyd doesn’t punch him when he wins.

Stiles opens the door and Peter quickly glides past him, saying, “Good evening, Stiles, I need your help tonight. On the clock, of course.”

“Peter…tonight? I just got home from practice and haven’t even eaten yet and…”

“Good, that’s perfect,” Peter says, grabbing him by the elbow and pushing him towards the stairs. “We’re going out to dinner, you need to get dressed; I’ll pick something out for you.” He leans forward and sniffs at Stiles’ hair, asking, “Did you shower after practice? Maybe you should shower again.”

“Creepy and rude! Yes, I showered at school and I can pick out my own clothes, not that I even agreed to this. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.” Stiles sits on his bed and gestures to the chair by his desk. “Not going anywhere until I get answers, so spill.”

Peter looks around the room, taking in the books scattered across the desk, clothes strewn on the floor and DVDs stacked next to the laptop. “I’ll explain while you dress,” he says, throwing open the closet door and looking through the clothes on hangers. “Here, this will work.” He hands Stiles a pair of black pants and a pink, button down shirt.

“That shirt, seriously?” Stiles asks, looking at the shirt. “Lydia picked it out, I’ve never worn it,” he says, showing Peter that it still has tags on the sleeve.

“Must be why it’s the only thing in your closet that doesn’t make my stomach hurt,” Peter replies and squats down, using one finger to poke at Stiles’ shoes. “Are there any shoes that an adult might wear?” Stiles doesn’t stare at Peter as he reaches into the back and pulls out a pair of red high-tops. “Wear these, we’ll pretend that it’s a well thought out fashion decision and not an act of desperation.”

“Thanks, you’re great for a guy’s ego,” Stiles says and takes the clothes out in the hallway for some semblance of privacy while still being able to hear Peter. “Okay, why am I doing this?”

“I’m buying an amulet from two women, Lilith and Faith. They’re very concerned about who gets their product and want to meet me and confirm that I have connections with someone who has magic. That’s where you come in.”

Stiles comes back in his room, tucking in his shirt. “Are you insane? I’m only now studying with Deacon, I barely have any magic to speak of. They’ll see that, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, checking out Stiles. “Nonsense, they’ll be able to tell. If we have to, we’ll say that you’re still in training, but they’ll be able to feel your spark. And you need a belt and we need to go.”

“Great, I’ll get a belt and you tell me what else is expected,” Stiles says, grabbing a black belt from the closet and heading down the stairs. “I don’t know why I do this, I swear it wasn’t in the contract.”

 

Dinner isn’t nearly as awkward as Stiles expected, which isn’t saying that much. But as Peter confirmed in the car ride to the restaurant, they don’t expect him to make conversation after initial introductions.

Both women are polite and shake his hand at the restaurant and Stiles can feel the magic when he touches them. Based on their sly smiles at each other they can feel something from him as well.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Lilith says smiling, and Stiles can feel Peter relax.

Peter treats him very courteously, being sure that he’s well fed, although he can’t get wine with dinner tonight. After they finish their entrees, he sits quietly and listens to the conversation. The two women are a couple and they live in Vancouver. They’ve done some work with Peter before, but this sale is something that clearly means a lot to them and they want to ensure that the amulet goes to someone who won’t abuse it. There’s not a lot of discussion about what power it has, but Stiles can feel something like a buzz in his chest. He doesn’t realize that he’s been rubbing his chest, until Faith looks at him carefully and passes him a small envelope, saying, “Put this in your pocket, clearly it wants to be with you.”

Peter smiles and nods at her, watching as Stile relaxes. “Better?” he asks, and puts a hand briefly on Stiles’ shoulder, waiting for him to nod, before he goes back to their conversation.

Later, Stiles is putting on his jacket – actually Peter’s jacket since his was deemed inappropriate – by the exit and he hears Lilith tell Peter, “I like him, Peter. You’re good together, take care of him.”

Peter catches his eye, raising an eyebrow and says, “I do, thank you.”

 

“Wake up, boy,” Peter says, shaking Stiles after he fell asleep during the car ride home. Or back to Peter’s home, where he left his jeep.

“I’m awake, and I’m not your boy,” Stiles mutters and stumbles out of the car. “I’m keeping your jacket till next time.”

“No, you’re coming upstairs for a few minutes. Don’t forget, you have something of mine,” Peter says, taking him by the elbow and guiding him to the elevator.

Upstairs, Peter goes directly to the fridge and after looking inside, he shrugs and says, “I could have sworn I had champagne, but I guess we’ll have to toast our success with something else.” He pours them both a glass of red wine and slides one over to Stiles.

“Still not twenty-one,” Stiles says, picking up his glass.

“Still don’t care,” Peter says and raises his glass for a toast. “To a great partnership. Thank you for your help. And hand over the envelope.”

“Such a dick,” he says and hands the envelope to Peter, who puts it in his pocket without giving it a second look.

“I can’t even see it?” Stiles asks and sips more wine. “It likes me, remember?”

“So far there’s two bids on it, but if you’re interested, I’ll take your offer,” Peter replies and pours himself another glass of wine, topping off Stiles’ as well. “You heard that Faith and Lilith think we’re a couple?” he asks, grinning.

Stiles shrugs and tries to keep his face neutral, although he can feel himself blushing. “Yeah. Was that planned?”

“No, I’m not sure why they thought that. Well, they knew Tricia, so maybe their thoughts go that way, getting me hooked up again.” He studies Stiles and asks, “Did you mind?”

“No, not really, it was just…oh, shit.” Stiles starts to answer, talking with his hands as usual and spills some of the wine down his shirt.

“Seriously, Stiles? You have one shirt that doesn’t make you look homeless and you spill on it? Although frankly, I was shocked you made it through dinner unscathed.” Peter sets down his glass of wine, spilling a little on the countertop. Stiles watches as he goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of soda water and thinks that Peter may have added some wolfs bane extract to his wine, making him slightly tipsy. Which is great, actually, that way he’ll match the way Stiles feels after his one glass of wine.

“Give me your shirt,” Peter demands, with his hand out. At Stiles’ skeptical look, he glares back and says, “I’ll rinse out the wine stain with club soda so your one decent shirt won’t be ruined. Hand it over.”

Stiles starts to unbutton his shirt, saying, “You’re probably just trying to catch a look at me, all that dating talk probably got you worked up.”

Peter snorts as he fills a bowl in the sink with soapy water, “Yes, I expect I’ll be driven wild by your little boobies showing through your t-shirt.” He stops and looks as Stiles hands him his shirt.

“Sorry, no t-shirt, remember you were lurking in my room and I didn’t have a chance to get one,” Stiles smirks and pours himself another half-glass of wine because why not? It’s been a strange night already and he’s enjoying the buzz.

Peter’s quiet as he rinses out the shirt and spreads it on a towel on the counter, blotting it carefully. When he’s done, he reaches in to his pocket, taking a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet, which he tucks into Stiles’ belt. “Thanks for the show. You could have done a little more bump and grind, but still worth it.”

“Ew, still creepy Peter!” Stiles exclaims, but puts the bill in his pocket. The alcohol makes him feel a little bold and he’ll admit it’s a little flattering seeing the way Peter looks at him, eyes flashing werewolf blue.

“How much for the rest?” Peter asks, walking towards Stiles, pulling out his wallet. “I’m feeling flush today and since there’s nothing on television tonight…”

“You couldn’t afford me,” Stiles says, chuckling and turning his head to watch Peter circling him. He hates it when the wolves sniff at him, some more subtly than others, but right now, seeing Peter obviously scent him, seeing how he affects the wolf is kind of a turn on.

Peter stops just to his side and whispers, “What’s your price, Stiles? One hundred for your shirt? What about your pants, is that another hundred? Or more? I’ve been curious if you’re boxers or briefs. Or boxer briefs? How much for all of it, Stiles?”

He feels a bit hypnotized by Peter’s voice, or that’s what he’ll tell himself later. “Five hundred. And no touching. You need to stay back,” he says, waving a hand and watching as Peter takes a couple of steps back, out of arm’s reach.

“This okay, Stiles? Do you feel safe enough with me this far from you?” Peter asks, voice smooth and quiet.

“Safe with you? Never.” Stiles swallows hard and for a second thinks this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever considered and he was the one who suggested going into the woods to look for a dead body.

Peter pulls bills out of his pocket and fans them out on the table where Stiles can see them. “Stiles?” he asks, and Stiles knows it’s a challenge, a tease from the wolf who for some reason has chosen Stiles as his personal toy.

Stiles meets his eyes and grins and some part of him thinks that this is probably how the Nogitsune smiled. He brushes that thought from his mind and undoes the buckle on his belt, pulling it from the belt loops, something he never does at home. But this is a show for five hundred dollars and he doesn’t want Peter to think it’s not worth it. He rests a hand on a chair next to him for support and raises his foot so he can untie his shoes and toes off one and then the other. There’s no sexy way to pull off socks, so he just peels them off, letting them drop on the floor next to his shoes. He checks on Peter, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, wine glass next to him forgotten.

He holds Peter’s eyes while he slowly unbuttons his jeans and undoes the zipper which sounds loud in the quiet room. Stiles hooks a thumb on either side of the waistband and shimmies them down his thighs, shaking his legs a little until they’re in a puddle at his ankle. He steps on one pant leg to pull his leg free and then repeats on the other side until he’s standing in only dark green boxer briefs, a birthday gift from Lydia, who said adults shouldn’t wear Batman boxers.

He notes Peter’s breathing is a little heavier, his mouth slightly open, which may be him scenting him again, but that’s okay, Stiles’ breath is a little heavier, too. He rubs his hands down his hips, slipping the briefs down just a tiny bit. He brings one hand back up, just brushing against his dick, which isn’t hard, but is certainly interested in what’s going on. Stiles remembers reading an article about strippers saying there’s a rush of power when they perform and he knows how they feel. Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away if Kate Argent suddenly appeared at the door.

Stiles runs his hands down his stomach, where he’s got some perfectly respectable abs, even if they’re not Derek-level. He slips his fingers into the top of the briefs and pushes them over his hip bones, slowing for only a second before pulling the waistband out slightly to skim them over his half-hard cock. Then they’re down his thighs and past his knees and he steps out of them and looks over at Peter.

Peter’s eyes barely have a ring of blue around them, they’re all dilated pupil. He blinks slowly, like he’s in a trance, and Stiles can see the tip of his fangs poking out of the small smile that never leaves his face. He walks around Stiles, staying an arm’s length away as promised, while Stiles swivels his head to track him. Suddenly when he’s almost behind Stiles, he whispers in the boy’s ear, “Lovely. You never fail to surprise me, Stiles, that’s what I like about you.”

Stiles whips his head around and Peter is standing back where he’s supposed to be. Stiles rubs his neck where he could swear he felt Peter’s beard rasp against his neck.

“Show’s over,” Peter says, looking like himself again, carefully put together as though nothing has happened. “Thank you again for your help with dinner. I’m sure you can see yourself out.” With that dismissal, he heads into his office, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Stiles takes a couple of breaths and with slightly shaky hands, pulls on his pants. On the table, there’s six hundred dollars; apparently his performance was worth a tip. He checks his shirt on the counter and it’s still wet, although as promised, there’s no sign of a wine stain. “Fuck this,” he says, and grabs Peter’s jacket, pulling it on over his bare chest. The socks go in his jacket pocket and he shoves his feet into the shoes. Then he gives a quick look at the closed office door and leaves the apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Five thousand dollars, Peter. Solo show.”

It’s as though there’s some unspoken agreement that Stiles won’t go to Peter’s apartment for a while. After all, it’s not like things there will fall apart if Stiles doesn’t clean for a week or so.

It’s just shy of two weeks since he was last at Peter’s apartment – stripping for Peter, let’s be honest – he gets a text that says, “Vacuum and bathroom, please? I’m out Tuesday if that works for you.”

Stiles texts back, “Fine, leave a note for anything else.” 

It goes without a hitch, as expected, there’s not that much mess. And with Peter out, Stiles cleans everything top to bottom, and while the laundry is in the dryer, he takes everything out of the fridge and wipes down the shelves. Why not, this is what he’s being paid to do. Forget that other stuff - that was just drunk shenanigans. On the way out, he picks up his shirt, which Peter left hanging in the closet, still in its plastic bag, fresh from the cleaners. 

He gets a text later from Peter that just says, “Thanks, see you next week.” And a direct deposit to his bank account, right on schedule. Things are normal, things are good.

 

Saturday afternoon has been on the regular schedule, there’s no school so it makes sense that it’s a day to go back. Peter might be there or he might not. If he’s there, okay, they have to see each other sometime. It’ll be fine, it’ll be cool. They’re both adults.

In Peter’s apartment, he gets his supplies and plans to get started on the bathroom and then do the kitchen, when he hears a voice behind him. 

“Stiles. Nice to see you again. And so nicely dressed.”

He whirls around, feeling ready for battle and says, “Peter. Not cool.”

Peter puts on a look that’s probably supposed to look puzzled and points to his jacket, which Stiles hung over the back of a dining room chair. “I don’t understand, Stiles. All I meant is I see you’re still wearing my jacket. It looks nice on you.” 

“God, you’re such a dick, Peter,” Stiles says, shaking his head and moving to take the cleaning supplies down the hall to the bathroom. 

Peter leans against the wall, effectively blocking Stiles from passing. “You know, you really don’t speak very respectfully to me, given that I am your employer. And I actually thought we were actually getting closer, maybe even we were becoming special friends. Do you tell your friends about our little adventures?”

“Shut up, Peter, and leave me alone.” 

“It’s very distracting how you always smell a bit like sex -- I think sex with yourself,” Peter says, squinting as he delicately sniffs the air.

Stiles snorts and says, “First, stop smelling me, you freak. And get whatever weirdness you have in your mind out of it.” He puts down his supplies and just stands and waits for Peter to get bored and leave him alone when he thinks of something he’s been meaning to ask. “Hey, did you sell that amulet?”

Peter looks at him thoughtfully, doing the whole head-cocking thing. “No. Why?”

“Just curious I guess. Lilith and Faith were just real concerned about where it went. And they thought that they knew who would end up with it and so I wondered,” he says.

Peter shrugs and says “It's just business, they know that. Some things can't be bought. And some, Stiles, can,”

He smirks that self-satisfied smirk and Stiles wants to punch him in his stupidly handsome face. “Fuck you, Peter.”

“Oh, is that an offer now? Interesting.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” Stiles says with a sneer.

“Really? Is this where we negotiate again? Because we’ve already discussed that I have quite a bit of money. And if you want to take our relationship to the next level…” He steps forward and sniffs along Stiles’ neck before Stiles takes a step back, wiping his neck as though he can wipe off Peter’s attention. 

“Like I said, you couldn’t afford me,” Stiles says, shaking his head and hoping that his heartbeat sounds only like annoyance and nothing else. 

“Well, how about a solo show? At least I can assume you’re good at that; based on your smell, you practice enough.”

Stiles snorts and scratches his head, wondering why he’s still here. Yes, the money is good and he needs some work on the jeep before he takes it to college next month. And text books are outrageously expensive. But even with that, he should tell Peter to fuck off and leave, but….. “Five thousand dollars, Peter. Solo show.”

Peter stands for a long second, just looking at Stiles with a stupid little grin on his face. “That’s fine, Stiles. I assume you’ll wait here for a minute – no running away, right?”

Damn Peter, hitting him in the ego. “Of course not, Peter. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Peter’s back before Stiles has time to get much more nervous and hands him a stack of bills. He thumbs through the stack and looks at all the Benjamin Franklins looking back at him. 

When Stiles looks up, he sees Peter leaning against the dining room table. “I have some five-hundred dollar bills, but they tend to make people suspicious. I’m sure you’ll be able to use these,” Peter says. 

“It’s fine,” Stiles says. Now that he’s holding the money he can’t turn back. There’s so many things he can do with it. This is at least a month’s salary for his Dad and all he has to do is what he does every day in his room. He shoves the money into his pocket and looks at the other item Peter handed him; a single-use packet of lube. He takes a deep breath and shoves the money into his pocket. Then he points to the arm chair across the room. “You sit there. Don’t leave the chair or it’s done.”

Peter just nods and sits down, making himself comfortable with that smug smile on his face. Stiles wants to punch him. 

He drags a chair from the dining room table so it’s about ten feet away and faces Peter. He quickly strips, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. Nothing sexy or special this time, it’s down to business so he can get started. And besides, Peter’s already seen everything. 

Stiles slouches in the chair, eyes shut and lets his mind wander through his spank bank for inspiration. He thinks maybe he’s a bit of an exhibitionist, as he realizes he’s already half hard. He runs his hands up his stomach and across his chest before he touches his cock, just two fingers underneath and then his fingers circling the head, dragging a bit of moisture that’s there. He remembers the lube that Peter provided and cracks open the package, rubbing it into his fingers to warm it. 

It’s better than what Stiles has in his bedside table, smoother and slicker. It’s nice having it, thoughtful of Peter, although it might just be because he wants the best show possible. But as Stiles starts stroking himself he wonders if Peter would be a thoughtful, considerate lover. Would he be gentle and touch him carefully waiting until Stiles comes before he lets himself go? Or would Peter be as aggressive in bed as he is in most things, holding Stiles’ hands over his head while pounding into him, making Stiles beg to come?

He slips deeper in the chair as he pulls his cock, hard and almost rough, the way he likes it. But he needs to slow down, surprised at how close he is to coming from just thinking about Peter. 

Although it’s not like he doesn’t know thinking about him makes him come hard and fast, that’s been proven over a few nights in the privacy of his bedroom. Because you can think about whatever gets you off, right? No judgment, it doesn’t mean anything if lately all he thinks about is Peter and his broad shoulders and biceps and his fucking wolfie smirk.

His hips arch as he thinks about some of his prior fantasies about Peter, running through the catalogue of fucking in the preserve, Derek’s loft, or in a jail cell. He moans softly, opening his thighs so he can tug on his balls, trying to keep himself from coming before he can finish his show.

He opens his eyes slightly when he hears a soft whine, and sees Peter sitting in the chair across from him. Peter’s eyes are bright blue, his claws sunk into the arms of the chair and his mouth full of fangs. Stiles grins at him and snaps his plain, human teeth at the wolf, the noise loud in the quiet room. Peter blinks and grins and then shows Stiles his regular smirk, the one that Stiles thinks about when he’s alone at night in his room. Does Peter think about him?

Stiles stares Peter in the eyes as he continues to stroke himself, feeling some of the lube and pre-come ooze down his crack. Part of him wants to touch his hole, the way he would at home, fucking himself with two fingers while he pumps his dick. The chair isn’t comfortable for that, and he doesn’t think he wants to offer that to Peter (not now, flits through his head), but the thought of it makes him go faster and pushes him closer.

Peter’s hips arch off his chair as he watches Stiles and that’s almost too much for the boy, who brushes a hand over his chest, smearing lube while he pinches his nipple sharply. His moan is almost drowned out by Peter’s, and Stiles shuts his eyes letting his mind wander through all the scenarios that rush through his head, like porno highlights all featuring Peter. 

His muscles go tight and his thighs twitch as he gives the head of his cock one final twist and he moans as he lets his orgasm overtake him. 

Through a relaxed haze, he sees Peter get up from his chair and approach him, and half of his brain thinks it’s not safe to have the werewolf next to him when he’s so vulnerable. The other half thinks he may want to see what happens with Peter’s waist even with Stiles’ face, that’s one from the spank bank. The other half of his brain is just tired and wants to take a nap on the nice couch, not really caring that he’s not good at math.

Peter gets on one knee next to Stiles, and runs a finger through the come on his stomach, licking it off while Stiles watches him with heavy eyelids. 

Then Peter leans forward and puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and moves forward to kiss him. It’s soft and gentle and he opens his mouth to lick at Stiles’ bottom lip and he quietly says, “Stiles, I want more.”

And Stiles barely opens his mouth, letting Peter’s tongue in and then he says, “No. No, Peter, stop it.” He pushes the man back, seeing the surprise on his face and he’s surprised himself. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do this, to stop it.

He stands up quickly and scoops his clothes off the floor, dressing as he walks to the door.

“This is done, Peter. All of this,” he says and waves his hands around the room. “It’s over, I quit.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has a discussion with Stiles.
> 
> Derek has a discussion with Peter.

“Hey, Stiles, how’re you doing?”

Stiles jumps and almost falls off his bed, yelling, “God, Scott, do you want me to have a heart attack?” He moves behind his friend and slams the window shut, locking it and pulling the curtains shut. “You do know I have a front door, right?”

“Yeah, I know. And I know you aren’t answering the door or your phone, so I figured I’d come over and let myself in.” He grabs a half-eaten package of Twinkies off the desk and sits down facing his friend. “So what’s going on with you? You should be happy, we’re almost done with high school and still alive! But you haven’t been talking to anyone or coming over to Derek’s for meetings or just to hang out. Did you and Peter have a fight or something?”

“Why do you say that, did someone say something?” Stiles asks, grabbing his pillow and holding it around his middle.

Scott shakes his head and says, “Stiles, we’re not blind. You and Peter were always with the pack at Derek’s, always sitting together, and then you both stopped showing up at the same time. And you won’t talk to anyone and apparently you’re not working for Peter anymore, so…”

Stiles scrubs his hands through his hair and sighs. “Yeah we had a fight and no, I’m not working for him anymore. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did he do something? Do you need me to break some of his bones or something?” Scott leans forward, flashing his eyes, looking like the intimidating alpha he is.

“No, no, he didn’t do anything, not really. He… it’s that we…” Stiles gets up and paces around his bedroom for a minute before he finally flops back down on his bed and says, “Well, he thinks I’m a whore, but other than that, everything’s just peachy-keen.”

His eyes flash and Scott growls, apparently without even realizing it. “What? Why would he? Stiles, do you want to tell me what happened?”

He stares at the ceiling and sighs loudly. “Not really. And you probably don’t want to hear about it, trust me. It’s just totally fucked up, Scott. Anyway, suffice to say, I’m not doing any work for Peter, whore-like or otherwise, any more. And we probably need some time before we can be in the same room.”

“Huh,” Scott says and studies Stiles for a minute, trying to be subtle as he sniffs the air. “I guess I’m surprised. You two together…you’re good, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, what do you mean?”

Scott fidgets and slides to the floor, grabbing a video game and playing for a bit before he answers. “You guys are happy when you’re together. Everyone knows it. I know you hate it when we smell you, but you both smell happy. I didn’t think he’d fuck it up.”

This has always been the best way for them to talk; there’s different games over the years, but it’s gotten them through divorces and deaths and too many werewolf emergencies. Stiles grabs the other control and plays quietly for a minute, intent on murdering everything that shows up on the screen. “Peter smells happy? Not just…horny?”

“Thanks for that, Stiles,” Scott answers, wrinkling his nose. “You both smell like lust a lot when you’re together, but sometimes -- you both just smell happy.” He shrugs. “Like Isaac and Allison do or like Derek and Braeden. There’s the attraction underneath, but there’s also this smell that I think means contentment, you know?”

“No, I don’t know what it smells like when you all do that sniffing thing.” They play for a bit not talking about wolves, which is a nice break. “He smelled happy?” Stiles says finally.

“You both do. Did. It was kind of annoying at first, but hey, Peter hasn’t killed anyone for a while, so if he makes you happy, then I’ll support you,” Scott says, and punches his friend on the arm. 

Stiles picks himself up off the floor, rubbing his arm and says, “You know that’ll leave a bruise. And the whole Peter thing…you’re conveniently forgetting the part about him thinking I’ll have sex with him for money.”

Scott snorts and pulls up another game. “Stiles, be honest, you’d have sex with him for free, if it were your idea.”

“Yeah, you got a point there.” He shifts until he’s comfortable and gets ready to annihilate his best friend.

“So…how are you guys gonna fix it?”

Stiles sighs and says, “Press the reset button?”

 

Peter isn’t expecting visitors and doesn’t want visitors and he certainly doesn’t want this one in particular. So he’s holding the door open, arm blocking entry before Derek even gets a chance to knock.

“Go away,” he orders. “There isn’t any emergency and no one’s died, so go away.”

Derek grins, fakes to the left and ducks under Peter’s arm before he can stop him. “Hi, Peter, nice to see you, too.”

“Oh, welcome, please do come in,” Peter sighs. “Can I make you some coffee or get you a drink or set you on fire?”

“I swear, you set a guy on fire one time,” Derek says and heads for the kitchen, not trying to be subtle as he checks out the apartment. “Don’t trouble yourself, not that you would. I’ll just help myself, why don’t you sit down so we can talk.” He opens the fridge and takes out a couple of bottles of water, throwing one at his uncle. He opens the freezer and chuckles before he takes a seat on the couch across from Peter. 

Peter tries a sneer, but his heart’s not in it. “Are you my appointed therapist? I thought that took qualifications or at least a bit of mental health yourself.” He opens the bottle and drinks just to give himself something to do with his hands. 

“Against my better judgment,” Derek says. “Mainly, because everyone misses Stiles and they’re guessing he’s staying away from us because of you. Therefore, I’m supposed to figure out what’s wrong so he’ll come back around the house.” He cocks and eyebrow and drinks half his water. “What did you do that pissed him off?”

“Do? I didn’t do anything,” Peter answers, scrubbing his hand across his face. 

Derek raises an eyebrow and Peter rolls his eye, saying, “All I did was tell him that I wanted to be more than his employer. And he told me he was quitting and he ran off. Is he missing, how long since you’ve seen him?”

“Couple of weeks,” Derek says, studying Peter carefully. “So what else did you do or say?”

Peter sighs and flops back on the sofa. “I kissed him, okay? It seemed like the right time; I kissed him and I said I wanted us to have more. And he stormed out. It’s not important, it was a stupid, impulsive thing and doesn’t matter.”

“Hmm. Strange though, I know he likes you.”

“He’s young, and full of hormones. And I’m old and stupid and had a stupid crush on a young boy, and clearly got the appropriate treatment for my trouble,” Peter says, looking past Derek’s head.

Derek snorts and says, “Bullshit. When he was 15, yeah, he was all hormones, but he hasn’t been like that for a while now. I don’t know why, but for some reason, apparently he likes you.” Derek stops and studies Peter, and Peter tries hard not to squirm. 

“Did he say something?” Peter asks, looking at his nails, the very picture of nonchalance.

“Well, let’s see…he agreed to work for you. He always does research with you and asks you questions that he won’t ask anyone else. He asks about you and he’s protective of you – he never lets anyone talk crap about you, at least not a lot.” Derek smirks. “So yeah, I guess he likes you. Go figure.”

Peter peels the label off his bottle of water while he considers what Derek said. “Interesting. But as I said, it was a temporary infatuation, that’s all. Attractive younger man acting like he might be interested. I was flattered, but it wasn’t anything serious on my part.”

Derek leans forward to face his uncle, and says, “Peter, your fridge is full of Cherry Coke and Red Bull. Your freezer is stocked with Hot Pockets and Pizza Bagels. You’re not going to tell me that’s all for you?” 

He shudders theatrically. “They’re repulsive and they stink. But sometimes Stiles does homework when he’s here working…” Peter stops and smiles, lost in thought. “It amazes me; he’s got the dishwasher and clothes dryer both running and he sprawls out on the couch watching something on TV, while looking at the internet and doing his homework, all at the same time.”

“Sounds like he’s comfortable here,” Derek says, quietly. “And you’re comfortable with him here?”

“Yes, I like him here,” Peter answers. He leans his head back on the couch and shuts his eyes with a sigh. “Liked him here. Sometimes, he’d sit on the floor of my office and read one of my books while I’m working. And he’ll ask a million questions, and generally, they’re intelligent ones.” He looks up, eyes wide, and then puts his head down on his lap. “Oh my god, listen to me, I sound pathetic. I’m pathetic. I sound like a teenager gushing over a cute cheerleader.”

“So…what are you doing, Peter, avoiding him?”

Peter gets up and paces in front of the window that looks over the street. “I told you, Derek, it’s just a stupid crush on my part. Meaningless and I’m getting over it.”

Derek sighs and joins Peter, standing quietly next to him. “Peter. You’re a lot of things, and I don’t support all of them, but one thing that you’re not is stupid. So pull your head out of your ass and figure out what you need to do to get him back.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to take me out on a date. You do realize I’d be there, right?”
> 
> “That’s generally the idea, yes.” Peter pauses and says, “I think maybe we could start over a little? If you’d like that.”

“Why do I have so much garbage? Why did I ever save this stuff?” Stiles asks his room, throwing more things into a black trash bag. It’s too early to pack the things he wants to take to college, but he’s been steadily cleaning his room for the last couple of weeks.  What a great way to spend summer vacation -- sorting out stuff to donate or throw out and finding a book that should have gone back to the library in February 2011.

After filling two bags, he’s about to call it quits for the day, when he hears his phone with the ringtone from the Who song “Fiddle About.” It seemed funny when he set it, now he’s not so sure.

“Hello,” he answers cautiously.

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter says. He sounds casual and Stiles thinks maybe a little nervous.

“What do you want, Peter?”

He hears Peter inhale before he says, “I thought I’d call and see if you’re busy Friday evening.”

Stiles snorts and looks at his phone. “Friday evening? Um, don’t you remember the part about me quitting? I don’t work for you anymore.”

“No, not work, Stiles. I thought…” Peter pauses and Stiles can picture his slightly frustrated face. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. Not business, just me taking you out to dinner.”

“Like a date?” Stiles asks, and there’s only a slight squawk in his voice.

Peter sighs. “Yes, Stiles, like a date.”

“You want to take me out on a date. You do realize I’d be there, right?”

“That’s generally the idea, yes.” Peter pauses and says, “I think maybe we could start over a little? If you’d like that.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to pause and finally he says, “Yeah, I think I would.” He grins to himself and asks, “So you’ll pick me up on Friday?”

“Your father will be out?”

“Yup,” he says. “All safe. So you’ll pick me up and ring the doorbell and everything?”

Stiles hears him sigh. “Yes, Stiles. You like sushi, right?”

“Yeah. I should warn you, I can eat my weight in sushi.”

“Charming,” Peter says, but he sounds like he’s smiling. “Friday at seven at your house then.”

“Sure. Oh, and a movie afterwards, right?”

“A movie? Certainly. We will be going out of town, I didn’t think you’re quite ready to have the locals gossip about you having dinner with an attractive, older man. But I don’t have a curfew if you don’t.”

“Like I said, Dad’s working. Besides, I’ll be heading for college in a couple of weeks, so he’s not big on curfews right now,” Stiles replies, flopping down on his bed.

“Okay, I’ll send you movie options and you can pick.”

“And I’ll want popcorn and a drink and candy, too, probably,” Stiles says.

“We’ll have just finished dinner and … fine,” Peter answers and Stiles can hear the eye-roll over the phone.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” he says and feels his heart pound. Can Peter hear that over the phone?

“That’s fine, I don’t expect you to.”

Stiles sits back and looks at his phone as though he’s looking at Peter. “And not on the second or third dates either.”

“Okay,” Peter says, seemingly calm.

“Maybe never, Peter. I may choose to never have sex.”

“That’s up to you, Stiles. It’s just a first date, hopefully the first of many. And if you decide you don’t want to date and you want to be friends, that’s fine.”

“Okay, good, take it slow. That sounds good.” He pauses and tries to think of something else to demand. “Flowers. First date, you should bring me flowers.”

“Flowers? Okay, if that’s what you want. You are putting yourself in a traditional female role you know?” Peter replies and Stiles can’t hear even the slightest snort.

“Nothing inherently feminine about wanting to be spoiled, Peter,” he says, nodding at the phone. “Besides you keep saying you have stacks of money. So flowers, please.”

Now Stiles hears a gentle snort and then Peter says, “I’ll pick you up at seven, with flowers, for dinner and a movie. That does sound like a date.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then,” Stiles says and hangs up before he says something stupid or more stupid. He’ll have plenty of time to say stupid things on Friday. On their date.

 

Six months later

Stiles walks to the door saying, “Why don’t you use your key?” He throws it open and smiles at Peter standing there.

“Kind of have my hands full,” Peter says, pushing past Stiles into the small apartment. It’s off campus, an easy drive to Stiles’ classes at Chico State. “Take the flowers, please.”

This time, Peter’s brought a small ceramic pot planted with Paperwhites. He takes a deep sniff of the fragrant, white flowers and puts the container on the table outside the small kitchen. “What’s the occasion,” he asks Peter. “Valentine’s Day isn’t for another two weeks.”

“Can’t I just bring flowers to my boyfriend?” Peter asks, unpacking two grocery bags onto the kitchen counter. “And maybe make him dinner?”

Stiles pokes around the groceries and says, “Hmm, still suspicious.”

Peter just shrugs and says, “It’s also house cleaning day, so I wanted to be gone.”

Stiles’ scent turns sour as he asks, “You still have Liam come over?”

“When I’m not there.” Peter stops his unpacking, rubbing his face in Stiles’ shoulder.  “Don’t worry, please. He cleans house and leaves, we never see each other. And he’s a boring child.”

“Well, I’m not thrilled with it, but I’m glad you’re here. I have been getting a little tired of ramen.”

Peter stops and tilts his head so Stiles has room to leave kisses and bites up his neck to the spot under his ear that makes Peter shudder. “Stop it, boy, at least long enough for me to get this in the fridge.”

Stiles grins as he steps back, still surprised and proud that he can have such an effect on Peter. “I’m not completely poor you know; I can afford food. Mostly, I’m just too lazy to buy it. And I know you will.”

“Comforting. You were much better at being my assistant than you are at taking care of yourself,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder as he puts milk, bread, eggs and bacon into the fridge. “I brought supplies for pasta and salad for tonight. And enough things that you should be able to feed yourself for the next couple of weeks.”

“Hey, I was thinking of driving home for Valentine’s, since it’s over a weekend this year.” Stiles sits at the table, pulling the pot of flowers towards him. There’s a pot of lavender in the window and he just threw out the faded amaryllis last week.

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Peter says, putting boxes into the pantry shelves. In spite of his complaints, Stiles got over being insulted at Peter buying so many groceries when Scott told him that wolves naturally want to provide for their mates. Which brought up a few other issues, not yet discussed.

Stiles looks at the plant and chews on a finger nail. “I was thinking that when I’m home, maybe we tell my dad about us,” Stiles says.

“Oh,” Peter says and looks at Stiles. “That would be a festive way to celebrate Valentine’s Day – being shot.”

“He won’t shoot you, I wouldn’t let him. It’s just…I told him that I wouldn’t keep secrets from him anymore and he knows that I’m seeing someone,” Stiles answers, getting up and wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. “I don’t like lying to him, even if it’s just lying by omission.”

“I don’t want you to have to lie to your father. You’re prepared for a less than enthusiastic response?” Peter asks, kissing Stiles’ temple and rubbing his nose in the younger man’s hair.

Stiles shrugs and rests his head on Peter’s shoulder. “What’s not to like? You take good care of me, make me study, feed me. So what that you’re almost – but not quite – old enough to be my father, and a werewolf, if you make me happy?”

Peter sniffs and gently pushes Stiles away. “Thanks for that. Guess which items he’ll focus on? You’ll be sure that his gun has only regular bullets, right?”

“I promise he won’t shoot you, but I’ll also make sure he doesn’t have his gun when we tell him.” Stiles looks at Peter’s raised eyebrow and says, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna be there.”

“Wouldn’t you rather just have a nice dinner and maybe some expensive jewelry?” Peter asks, going back to straightening the few groceries in the kitchen cabinets.

Stiles reaches around him and pulls a bottle of soda out of the fridge. “I have to be the one to tell him. He’s been grilling Scott and you know he’ll fold. He’s asked Derek point blank if he knows who I’m dating and thankfully Derek’s famous lack of social skills allowed him to shrug and not reply.”

“If it’s what you want to do, of course I’ll support you,” Peter answers and leans against the counter, watching his young lover.

“I do. I think we’re going to be together for a while, don’t you?” He asks and waits until Peter smiles and nods. “So I don’t want to hide from people. I’m not embarrassed by you. Or by us being together.”

Peter nods again, and pulls Stiles in for a kiss. “It’s still early, do you want to see a movie before I make dinner? I got things for carbonara.”

“Yum, my favorite,” Stiles answers and kisses him back. “Movie?”

Peter smirks and says, “Did you finish your assignments? I don’t want your father to blame me for any bad grades.”

“I don’t have anything due tomorrow or the next day. And hey, do you want to see what I’ve been working on instead of my botany paper?” Stiles asks, his eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely,” Peter answers, stealing another kiss.

Stiles gestures for him to step back, then shuts his eyes and places both hands on his chest, over the amulet that he always wears underneath his shirt. Peter watches as his lips move while he mumbles something and suddenly the lights in the both the living room and kitchen flicker and then go out. And then candles in both rooms light, bathing the rooms in a warm glow.

“What do you think? Am I awesome or what!” Stiles yells and does a quick fist pump as he moves towards Peter.

Peter meets him in the middle and pushes him back against the counter, reaching around to shut off one of the burners on the stove top that lit itself. “You’re amazing,” he says, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. “Worth every penny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments. 
> 
> Come say hello on tumblr, I'm Rebak1tten.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hello on [Tumblr](http://rebakitt3n.tumblr.com/)


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